


I'm So Sorry To Hear It

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, That Bus Ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: “Earlier today, when you said something about losing your best friend – that was what you meant, wasn’t it?”--On the bus ride to Crowley's flat, an Angel and a Demon catch-up.





	I'm So Sorry To Hear It

**Author's Note:**

> There's a great many takes on whether Aziraphale knew Crowley was talking about him when he said that'd he'd lost his best friend. And here's another one!

“So,” Aziraphale says, his voice not quite a whisper but not far from one.

It’s the first thing he’s said since they sat on the bus. Since he sat next to Crowley (not that Crowley is thinking about that, too much), despite the bus being nearly empty. They probably don’t need to be whispering, but considering their unknown standing with their erstwhile head offices, perhaps it isn't the worst thing to be on the cautious side.

“So?” He says, when Aziraphale hasn’t continued.

“So,” Aziraphale begins again. He briefly wrings his hands before he seems to catch himself and stop. “About the bookshop. Or rather, the, er, lack of bookshop. Now.”

His laugh is a little pained, so Crowley keeps his voice gentle as he prompts, “Yeah?”

“Earlier today, when you said something about losing your best friend – that was what you meant, wasn’t it?”

“Oh _for the love of-_ ,” Crowley groans, exasperated even if he isn’t especially surprised. “Who else would I have been talking about – Haster?”

“That isn’t what I meant at all, thank you. I’m not dense, Crowley.” _Oh, you certainly are_ , Crowley thinks but before he can say something of that sort, Aziraphale’s indignation disappears as quickly as it came on. “I mean, it was the fire, _specifically_ , that you were talking about?”

Crowley frowns. “What else would I have been talking about?” He asks with considerable more sincerity and confusion.

Aziraphale suddenly looks at the back of the seat in front of them as though it holds the secrets of the universe. “It’s only that- well, before I found you – and before the fire, of course – I had sent a call up to the Almighty, like I said I would. Except, well, I didn’t _actually_ get to the Almighty. Basically got a glorified voicemail, but that’s not the point.”

“What _is_ the point?” Crowley asks.

“My si- Heaven, that is: they were going to have this war, no matter what I said or did.” He glances at Crowley, a strained smile flickering over his lips. “You were right, in the end.” He falls silent and Crowley feels none of the vindication he had told himself he would in this moment.

Aziraphale shakes himself a minute later, when Crowley could think of nothing whatever to say. “That’s not quite the point, either. I _did_ mean to call you right away after that.”

“You did,” Crowley reminds him. “Terrible timing, unfortunately.”

Aziraphale’s smile warms a little. “We’ve had quite a bit of that, haven’t we?”

“End of the world will do that.” Never mind that it’s not something they’ve ever really been excellent at.

They both laugh and Crowley has a feeling Aziraphale had the same thought.

“It wasn’t the best timing for me, either,” he adds. “You see, I had set up a direct channel to reach the Almighty and when I ended that call it didn’t close. They were expecting me to, you know, join their forces. I wasn’t planning to, really I wasn’t. But, well, I did. I don’t know what started the fire but when you said you’d lost me I thought…” He gives a soft, quick, pained laugh and looks away again.

“You thought...?” Crowley says. He flexes his hands in his lap, aware how close Aziraphale’s are, how easy it would be to comfort him this way. But the last thing he wants is to upset Aziraphale any further, and he still - even now - doesn't know how he'd respond.

Aziraphale still doesn’t look at him. “I thought perhaps you’d seen the circle and thought that- that I had- left you, you know? That I’d chosen Heaven… over you.”

Crowley thinks about their argument, barely a day ago. _There is no our side, Crowley_. He thinks about how it had hurt him, because it had, of course. But it had hurt him because he knew that Aziraphale was lying. Yes, he was lying to himself and that was all sorts of complicated, and he really can’t deny that there’s a thrill to hearing Aziraphale say as much, but he didn’t need the confirmation. Not from him. 

“Never would have crossed my mind,” he says with complete sincerity. 

There’s a silence. “Ah,” Aziraphale says at last, the word more of an exhale, as if he’s just let go of a heavy weight. Then, just like that, he continues briskly, “Well of course you had a fire and my discorporation to be thinking about, didn’t you?” Crowley flinches, and Aziraphale’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. “What?”

He doesn’t want to say it, but it’s rare for his angel to be this open and its hardly fair of Crowley not to match him. “Discoporation wasn’t- wasn’t actually what I was thinking about.” Aziraphale raises his eyebrows in surprised inquiry, and now it’s his turn to have to look away. “Hell’d already come for me, after all,” he says, keeping his voice as measured as possible. He doesn’t elaborate.

He doesn’t need to. He can feel the intensity of Aziraphale’s gaze as his meaning becomes clear. “You mean, you thought…”

“Mmmm.” 

“Oh,” Again there is so much weight in the single word, and Crowley remembers the strength of Aziraphale’s reactions whenever he brought up Holy Water. He understands that now. “Oh, _Crowley_. I am so sorry.”

Well now he’s absolutely upset Aziraphale more. _Nice going, Crowley_. “Eh,” he says, waving a hand. “All worked out in the end, didn’t it? And you’re here, right as... whatever.” 

Aziraphale shakes his head. “But putting you through that. If I’d honest with you from the start- if I'd listened to you- if I hadn’t been stubbornly holding on and not seeing what was there-!”

“You had faith, angel,” Crowley says, gently. “It's in your job description - it's hardly your fault.”

“No, it is. I should have had faith in _you_.” And then, before Crowley can say anything, Aziraphale reaches over and rests a hand on his – and Crowley is suddenly unable to speak at all. “And I’m sorry.”

“I-mm-yeah- we-well- well, y-you’re forgiven.” Too late, he remembers Aziraphale saying those words to him only hours ago, but Aziraphale’s answering smile is almost smug and Crowley always loves that expression on him (even if he claims the opposite, even to himself) so he can’t even be upset.

The angel begins to lift his hand again, and Crowley summons about as much courage as he’d needed to face the forces of hell coming to earth – maybe more – and rests his free hand over Aziraphale’s, holding him there. He blinks, a slight flush coming to his cheeks, but he doesn’t freeze or panic. He gives Crowley’s hand a small squeeze and settles back, apparently with every intention of staying where they are.

Quiet, so quiet that Crowley almost doesn’t hear, Aziraphale says, “Thank you, dear.”

They don’t say anything for the rest of the bus ride. They don’t move, either.


End file.
